


Sudden Realizations.

by fearless_seas



Series: We Were Made of Sunshine and Gold [6]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Goodbyes, Hand Jobs, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, No Sex, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 06:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15136997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: It is difficult, saying goodbye.





	Sudden Realizations.

**Author's Note:**

> This is day four of Pierre's visit.

          “We have to get up sometime,” Pierre murmurs into Charles’s hair. They are laying on the bed with morning sun filtering in through the curtains.

          Charles sighs grumpily and only tightens the press of his cheek against their chest. He allows his fingertips to run over their chest, down until he reaches the end of the ladder of ribs. Dots of sunshine are pooling over their skin and he brushes up over them with his touch. He can feel Pierre moving his fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes into the interaction. “It's too early,” he whispers back. _But I don’t want you to leave_.

          Half an hour later Pierre shifts on the bed and pats his shoulder, “I have to drive back soon.” He swings his feet over the bed to the floor leaving Charles tangled up in the messy sheets. He leans up on an elbow on the mattress to watch them as they strut about the room with the usual loose, swift mannerism of their hips.

          Pierre chuckles, staring at him from the corner of his eye as he pulls a shirt out from his bag in the corner. “Were you staring at my ass?”, he teased, slipping his shirt over his head and keeping his eyes upon him.

          Charles sat up, placing himself closer to the bedpost. “And what if I was?”, he dared, fluttering his eyelashes.

          Pierre smirked and folded his fingers over his jaw, bringing Charles face closer towards him until his breath was cascading over their cheeks. “Then you are a pervert, Charles Leclerc,” he pushed him away and sat down on the edge of the bed to tug up his jeans. Charles flopped back onto his stomach on the bed until his bottom was booted and he shot up. “Come on, lazy, get up,” Pierre exited the room and headed down the hall. Charles sighed and rolled over onto his back to gaze at the ceiling. He wondered if the sky would look this bright on days when they were not present.

 

________________________

  


          They ate a small breakfast after Charles had taken a shower and it was relatively quiet. A few times he attempted conversation but the words would die in the hollow of his throat before they had the chance to spill off of his idle tongue. It was the nothingness they felt the need to surround themselves in. Pierre angles his head towards the window; there was a softness in the shape of his features. It was a short moment of refinement when he reaches his hand blindly beside him and grasps Charles’s hand. He holds it, cradles it in between his fingers, presses them together and doesn't manage to speak. They both could reckon with it, the thoughts swimming about in their heads.

 

____________________________

  


          It’s still silent when they both wash up the kitchen and move upstairs towards the room. Charles sits at the desk, watching Pierre as he quietly moves about the room picking up his items and placing them into his backpack. Maybe he doesn’t realize himself that he is staring at him, every little movement switching the tiny gears in his brain. Everytime Pierre shovels the hair off of forehead and how he continues to pass him an almost shy smile every time that their eyes meet across the room. He wonders if it will be like this: beaming across any room for decades and continuing to know that they are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. They are someone who deserves another who can keep up with their full, frantic heart; a part of him wonders if he will always be that for him. It is the little things: laundry, coffee, lost keys, eye contact, laced fingers, twisted pasts and convoluted futures.

          Pierre puts a hand on his hip and his voice breaks out of the thick blanket of silence. “What you thinking about?”, he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing him. The marigold light coming in through the window is making him glow, brings out the shine of ocean eyes. A perfectly put together mess.

          Charles thumbs the pad over his thumb over his lips and stretches out his curled legs. “Nothing,” he lies, adding a shrug. Pierre raises a brow in contention. “Alright, fine,” he rolls his eyes, “Everything.”

          “What kind of everything?”

          Another shrug, “The future.” He shifts his eyes to the drapes and puts his palm beneath his jaw. “You know…”, he trails off.

          “Us?”, Pierre inquires although he already knows the answer. Charles nods, returning his gaze. World change this way: simple looks. “Everything is good, what are you worrying about?”

          “Oh,” Charles shakes his head, “I am not worrying.” He smiles, “Just thinking.”

          Pierre grins, “It must be very good.”

          “It is,” and then Pierre approached and puts his hand on top of his. Charles peers down at the interaction before flipping his hand over, twisting their fingers into his, squeezing and then slowly moving his hand away.

 

____________________________

  


          “Are you positive you are going to be okay?”, Pierre questions as he descends the stairs into the front door landing.

          “Yes, yes,” Charles urges, pushing him on his back to coax him forward. He has his bag already drawn over one shoulder and after putting on his shoes they both stand there staring at the ground. The stillness again is ever present, creeping along the walls and floors towards them. “What about you?”

          “I’ll have Esteban to keep me company.” Pierre rubs the back of his neck and brings his gaze up, “I will see you soon, right?”

          Charles nods, “Right.”

          “You will call me too, Charlot?”

          “Of course.”

          “Okay then.”

          It doesn’t feel awkward, only as if something is unfinished, left suspended about their atmosphere. “I hope you have a safe drive,” he stumbles, taking a step forward until they are are merely an inch apart; eyes locked. 

          Pierre lets out a little breath of air. “Don’t worry about that,” he reaches a hand forward, pinches their chin and tips it upwards to face him properly. “Don’t worry…”, he sighs and pecks his lips against his. A little smile plays at his lips and Charles tips on his toes to return this, dropping a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Pierre moves his hand behind to support his back and it changes. Their smile disappears and suddenly he puts hands on either side of their face, putting his thumbs onto their cheekbones. Charles gasps a little in shock and threads his fingers up through the back of their hair. It has turned a little desperate, perhaps a slice of messy. His back hits the wall as Pierre’s bag drops off of his shoulder to the ground. He closes his eyes and a little moan escapes his tongue when he feels a mouth crawling across the line of his jaw and neck.

          It tastes just as sunshine should, as though they’d been touched and dripped with morning light. Carelessly, breathlessly, everything erupting into the absolutl lightest, soothing darkness. Fleeting moments such as these. And he wants him. More than he ever has. Maybe that is what makes all of the difference this time. He decides this long before Pierre realizes it, and only when they are back upstairs in his room do they see it. He wraps his legs around their waist, cradles his hands over their shoulders, reaches underneath to grasp at the hem of their shirt and tug it over their head. His hands push and prod over the boundaries of revealed skin, the miles and inches there.

          “Are you sure?”, Pierre mumbles into the carve of his neck.

          Charles tears his shirt off, drops it to the floor and plants his hands on their chest. “Yes,” he dares, searching into their eyes, “Touch me.”

          Pierre nods confidently at him, a tongue licking out over his lips as he places his hands on their inner thigh, skimming his fingertips under the lining of his shorts. He reaches him in places where no one else has. It’s breathless, this care with which his hands go across his body. He does just that: touches him; strokes him and continuing to kiss him over and over his collarbone and shoulder blades. It leaves Charles curling his hands at the bedsheets and tossing his neck back as he bucks into his hand, grabbing at them. Nothing particularly mattered; not the past or the future, only what it feels like to fatally his right now. They are all that truly make sense to him.

 

________________________________

  


          “I don’t want you to go,” Charles admits, trailing his fingertips over their bare chest.

          “I know,” Pierre says. He squeezes his shoulder, “But we will see each other soon.”

          “You say those words a lot.”

          “What words?”

          “I know.”

          “Well,” he spins over onto his stomach, “Maybe it is because I do know.” As a joke, he pokes Charles’s nose.

 _But it doesn’t feel like enough_.

          They redress and are back at the door.

          “This time I actually have to go,” Pierre chuckles, swinging his bag onto his back. Charles opens the door for him and walks him to his car on the street in front of the house. The autumn leaves are beginning to shed in little hues of furious colors. He hugs him before he gets into his car, closes his eyes and shoves his face into the collar of their sweatshirt as if attempting to memorize his scent.

          Pierre presses his mouth to the top of his hair. “I love you,” he speaks softly and it’s a sudden realization that he is home; that these arms are walls.

          “I know.”

          It takes a few minutes before he pulls away and Pierre starts his vehicle, rolling down the window to kiss him one last time. He follows him drive off on the street corner, kicking up leaves as he goes off. Charles sighs, treads slowly back towards the house, up the driveway. He opens the door, the lock clicking into place and the emptiness drips back over his bones as his back slides against the frame and he's sitting on the floor hoping maybe the door will open once again.

_I miss you already._

**Author's Note:**

> I am not going to beg for comments like I do in every fic, haha, I never get them anyways. Hope you enjoyed reading! Yesterday on Instagram Pierre called Charles "Charlot" and I am dying. I hope Charles gets better soon. Tumblr is @sonofhistory and @pieregasly


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